


Had To Be

by merrabeth



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: 4x09 spoilers, M/M, Somewhat, filler between Gallavich scheme scene and when they're in the kitchen the next morning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-18
Updated: 2014-03-18
Packaged: 2018-01-16 04:04:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1331248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merrabeth/pseuds/merrabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is pretty much a filler, I guess, of what happened between Ian and Mickey at the hotel and the next morning, kind of explains Mickey's expression when Ian leaves the house.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Had To Be

Mickey turned his head back quickly, not wanting to see in Lip’s eyes what probably was showing in his. Lip’s concerns would have been more potent if he’d been with Ian last night.

~~~~~~~~~

They stood by the entrance, watching _Money Ballsacks_ leaving with tense muscles, still probably feeling the affect of Mickey’s knee. Mickey grinned with pride and relief. He had more than enough for that skank bitch. “We make a pretty good team, Gallagher,” Mickey sighed, not even trying to hide his elated expression.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Ian replied sharply. “Pimp&Slut, outing seemingly upstanding guys, but we won’t- for a seemingly upstanding price.”

Mickey shook off Ian’s comment, too happy that he wouldn’t have to find out if Svetlana was serious about opening her dirty-ass mouth to her father. “Wanna go back up to the room? We still have it for about an hour.”

“Not really.” Ian’s voice was more than a whisper. “No.”

Turning to Ian, he could see how drained he looked. There subtle hints of forming bags under his eyes that he’s never noticed before, or maybe Ian just usually looked livelier. “What’s up?” When he didn’t get an answer, he raised his eyebrows. “You actually sick?” But Mickey didn’t need an answer to that. He could feel something off about him.

With every moment, Ian seemed to be drowsier and drowsier. He opened his mouth, as if he was gonna say something- or maybe he _wanted_  to say something, but the words couldn’t just escape from his throat. And when their eyes met, holy shit, Mickey had seen those eyes before. The words that came before he had truly noticed those eyes: _You can’t-no…no, I…I don’t want you t-_

_What did I just say to you?_

Mickey cleared his throat. “You…you take that ‘twink’ stuff seriously?”

“Just make sure the next time we do this, I have something stronger in my system than a fucking punk ass martini,” Ian hissed. Even with little to no venom in his words, they still bit at Mickey. What the fuck did that mean?

Before he could ask the question out loud, Ian had brought their bodies together, and Mickey could feel every instinct in his body telling him to push Ian away, because PDA in public still wasn’t something they did. But his bones and his brain(they just came out of a hotel room with some older dude giving them money) led his hands to Ian’s shoulders gripping tight while Ian’s arms felt limp around his waist. With what seemed to be Ian’s quickly dwindling strength, they kissed softly; with each close of their lips, Ian’s got lighter, softer. It wasn’t until he’d pulled away that Mickey realized he was almost supporting the taller man.

“C’mon, Ian, get your coat on,” Mickey mumbled. “I’m taking you home.”

And he wasn’t sure what to do when they got on the train. Ian just sat there, staring at nothing with a blank, dead expression. If it wasn’t for the repeated reassurance from Ian’s rising and falling body, Mickey would have thought Ian _was_ dead.

Ian dragged his feet all the way to his house, up the stairs, and finishing with a slide into bed, barely remembering to take his coat off.

Mickey watched the glassy look in Ian’s eyes until he’d finally closed his eyes. Mickey could feel the weight on him, as if he was still trying to hold up Ian or if he was carrying him to safety.

It’s just sleep, Mickey sighed as he’d gotten settled, looking up at Ian from where he lied on the floor. It had to be sleep. It _couldn’t_ be anything but that.

And there Ian was the next morning; with a bounce in his step and frantic movements and mind reeling all before 8 am.

He didn’t want to see the look in Lip’s eyes. He didn’t want to see anyone see what he’d seen. That would make it real, raise of speculation. Ian was fine. He _had_ to be fine.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm pretty sure I could have done better with explaining if I was writing in the POV of Ian because it's a feeling I've felt before, dead limp, you know. Ok. Yeah. Sorry if it's bad.


End file.
